


Southside

by MistressOfMalplaquet



Series: Southside [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Jughead is trying to figure it all out, Season 2 please don't kick my ass, bughead - Freeform, including himself, is there such a thing as Burgeromantics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 18:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11064816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfMalplaquet/pseuds/MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: Betty visits Southside.





	Southside

At Riverdale High, Jughead used to slouch in his seat and pretend not to be on the lookout for her until Betty actually walked into English class. Her appearance always turned him into a grinning sap. One whiff of blond ponytail and he could actually feel his levels of foolishness rise. And when their eyes met, hers crinkled with amusement, forget about it.

He always spent the next 45 minutes watching her neat collar, the smooth skin of her neck, the way her shiny Maryjanes reflected his old red Converse.

#

Southside isn’t horrible. He’s more invisible there. Already he’s padded his protective coloring through a smoking habit he never wanted. Cigarettes are inevitable, and they make him look the part of a kid who might be part of a motorcycle gang.

Of course there’s a Betty-shaped hole in that theory. If she ever caught him at it, she would tug her ponytail tighter and launch into a Save Jughead’s Lungs campaign. And, Jughead considers as he crushes the Marlboro under one sneakered toe, she’d probably succeed.

His lungs will be fine. As for his heart, there’s nothing to be done about that.

A quick wash-up, and he heads back to class. His seat is sort of in the middle but more towards the back, a spot he picked with mathematical precision to show he’s not a teacher’s pet but not a cool kid wannabe either.

He’ll survive – he always does.

#

“Which girl you gonna bang first?” The guy asking the question is seriously huge. His name is Grillz.

Jughead looks up from his laptop and frowns. “What?”

“Which one?” Grillz waves a long arm at the gym where mobs of students in shorts and sweats play volleyball.

“I don’t – I mean, I have…” He’s not sure how to answer the question. For one thing, he doesn’t think of anyone at Southside like that. There are some kids he can talk to at lunch, thank God, and one girl has told him she likes his essays. Otherwise, he spends his days surviving until something happens. What that something is, he has no idea.

“You gay or something?” Grillz frowns and leans back in the bleachers. Before Jughead can answer, the guy puts up both palms. “Not that I care. Whatever. But you haven’t put the moves on anyone since you got here.”

The quickest way out of an uncomfortable conversation, Jughead has found, is to turn the topic around. He asks about the guy’s romance situation and gets a twenty-minute lecture on past and present hook-ups. Jughead’s able to plot out the next section of his book during the whole story. Win-win.

Still, the guy does make Jughead take another look at the kids on the wooden courts. There’s a girl with blue hair he thinks is kind of cute. The guy with dreads who stole his fries could probably model for underwear or socks, and Grillz is living artwork in huge muscles.

There’s something missing, though, and Jughead knows exactly what it is.

 _Who_ it is.

#

His reason waits by Southside’s ancient bike rack. Jughead sidles up to her for his own private front-row view to the Betty movie.

“I brought you something,” she declares.

It’s a white bag, spangled with grease. Jughead knows exactly what’s inside. “Why, Ms Cooper,” he grins. “You shouldn’t have.”

Betty plops the sack of burgers inside the basket of her bike. “Want to get the hell out of here?”

#

Jughead pedals them to his dad’s trailer, Betty standing behind him on the frame. Her hands cup his shoulders, and she handles the turns perfectly. They’re like a living Norman Rockwell, and he feels he should be whistling Follow Me Boys or the theme from The Bridge on the River Kwai.

“Maybe you can get a paper delivery route!” she teases, breath warm on his ear.

“Too busy saving the world.” The truth is he needs a job. A car would be good, maybe an old jalopy. They could drive to the river – no. Not the river.

The cliffs, then, or the beach. Park there in the moonlight and pretend they were at the drive-in.

When they get to FP’s trailer, the burgers are exactly the way he likes them: grilled medium rare. “One slice each of lettuce, tomato, and onion,” he adds after the first bite. “Perfection. And ketchup – and do I detect a little _je ne sais quoi_ of mayonnaise? Where have you been all my life?”

“Three lockers down the hall.” Betty raises her brows. “Unless you were talking to the burger. One of those is mine, by the way.”

He gestures grandly to the table. “But of course, madam. Help yourself.”

“I’m worried about Archie’s dad, Juggie.”

And there it is – Betty as a constant source of support, even though he should be used to it by now. Jughead puts down his sandwich. “I tried to call him this morning, and last night, and yesterday afternoon.”

She doesn’t answer, just squeezes his hand and gives him the smile that means _Awesome, good job, but what are we going to do about it next?_ Before he can launch into the actions he’s half-planned, Betty changes the subject. “How are you?”

“Okay.” The word is muffled in the burger. Good lord, he’s missed Pop’s food. “Well, weird actually. Even weirder than usual.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Some guy tried to ask me if I was gay or straight today.”

Betty waves another wrapped sandwich under his nose. “Pshaw. _You?_ Please. You’re the world’s original Burgeromantic, right? Hashtag love wins.”

It surprises a bark of laughter out of him, although the burgers are almost good enough to marry. But she’s already changed the subject back to Mr. Andrews and what they might do to help Archie.

“Wish you were still at the Blue and Gold,” she adds. “But I guess that’s obvious.”

Jughead nods. “You'll have to take this one on by yourself, Myrna Loy.”

“Without my Thin Man? No way.” Betty puts down her sandwich, wipes her hands on one of the napkins, because of course she came prepared. “I know this is weird, your new life away from Riverdale. See, already you’re giving me that side glance that means you’re going to say something you think is best for both of us but in the long run will break our hearts.”

“What!” Jughead acts shocked. “I most certainly was not.”

“Juggy.”

“Okay. I was.” He gets up from the chair he straddled, goes to the sink, and drinks straight out of the faucet. When he stands and wipes his mouth on his sleeve, she’s waiting with hands folded in her lap, eyes bright. Expectant. “When you’re here, it’s like having a piece of Riverdale back. And that’s not fair to expect you to be my personal symbol of what I’ve lost. I know you have projects out the wazoo, not to mention a long line of guys who are just waiting for you to come to your senses about the loser you’re with currently.”

She opens her mouth, but his dumb words won’t stop tumbling out of his dumb mouth. “You deserve a prince, or at least a guy who has a car. I _biked_ us here, Betts. On _your_ bike. And the paper route thing might not be a total joke. I was thinking maybe I could find an old heap, you know? A junker. Except you should be driven around in limos or at least last year’s SUV…”

“Jughead Jones!” Betty stands up, strides up to him, and grips his plaid shirt in one small fist. “You can bike me all over Riverdale – heck, I was happy when you walked me home. And speaking of would-be suitors, I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop when the Southside girls figure out what an amazing boyfriend you are. _I’m_ the lucky one.”

Well, shit. If she’s going to gaze up at him like that … He tilts up her chin, kisses her soft and slow. Betty is sweet, so sweet, and another guy would have been macking on her for the past hour. But instead Jughead’s been concentrating on the meaning of life and hamburgers.

“What are you thinking about?” Betty murmurs, and her whisper goes straight to the pit of his stomach. Maybe he has a thing for ears, and for Betty, and for Betty whispering in his ear.

“You said Pshaw earlier. Didn’t think that happened outside of books – ouch! Stop poking me, woman.” He takes a deep breath. “I think I figured it out. The answer to that guy’s question today? The truth is - I’m Bettysexual.” It earns him a delicious giggle, plus she tightens her arms around his neck. So that’s all good stuff. Still. “We’re 16, Betts. We live in different towns. Think we have a chance at all?”

She tightens her ponytail with a firm tug. “No doubt. Go apply for that paper route. I’m pretty good at fixing old junkers.”

\- End

 

 

 


End file.
